Ashes of my Life- A Collection of Short Stories
by CatalystSong
Summary: This isn't really HP, but I needed somewhere to post! Also, I suck at summeries. Ashley Flame is a girl that no one knows about. She's quiet, and only dresses in black. Then, suddenly, people know about her. She's on the news, everyone is talking about her, rumors spreading, trying to answer the big question- Why. Why did she commit suicide? What was wrong with her life?
1. Chapter 1

I spend my days locked in a haze, stumbling in and out of every day. Music turned on to the max, I sway a little. Somehow the artists just sum up your life in a short 4 minute music video in the form of a catchy, meaningless song, because the minute they step out of the studio they aren't the depressed, heartbroken person they sang. They're waving at the fans and _carpe diem _whenever they feel like it.

"You okay?" someone asks. I'm a little surprised at someone noticing, and I realized I let my guard down for a moment there.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I zone out a lot." I say, as if that solves the issue, as if that's the end of it. I take off my earbuds and try to focus. I type a few words, do a little work, and decide I'm not in the mood and I'll do it at home.

_Lies. _I accuse. _You're never in the mood. Why should you be then? _

Good point.

I don't even know why I stopped caring. I don't know _why _I'm so depressed, _why _I don't care anymore, _why _I wish the world would just shut up and listen. Why I don't tell anyone.

I guess I should be happy.

Teachers love me because I'm the genius going to the nation science fair, the violin master, the mathematician solving the world's cyber security problems.

But I'm not.

I have nothing causing it: no heartbreak, no nothing. Just a sudden realization that the world is so fake and hates my guts.

I zone back in. _Listen., _I tell myself. Actually, I command myself. Note the word choice.

"Why do we write?" asks the english teacher.

"To express ourselves," answers a kid, the know-it-all.

"Because we're told to." jokes another. It's funny how you can tell so much about someone by just being quiet and observing.

"To trap our soul in a paper."I hear so many answers, I loose track of their personalities.

"To free ourselves." says the boy sitting across from me, the one that asked me if I was okay. He said it almost carefully, like he was afraid to say something wrong. Somehow, he doesn't seem the type. He is wearing all black and shrinks among the shadows. I glance down at my own attire, which is similar to his. He probably wants to look tough. I want to disappear.

I add him to my mental list, the odd ones out. The ones that aren't all competing to me the most popular, the ones who don't want the hottest date. I lean a little forward, secretly studying him. My 'friends' have tried (and failed) to match me up with someone, so I guess I check him out a little. For some reason, I'm not that into him. He's more friend material, I decide.

The bell rings and I hurry to be in the exact middle of the crowd in the hallway: the ones not infested by possible people to talk to. Suddenly, I feel a firm hand on my shoulder.

"You sure?" the same boy asks. I nod and walk away before any more dialogue can happen.

But not before he tells me his name, and I tell him his.

"Ash. That's a pretty name." he says, but I know what he's thinking. It's not my fault there wasn't any less depressing nickname for _Ashley_. I mutter a quick thanks and walk outside. I still have to go to study hall, but no one takes attendance so I leave to my 'spot'- a giant rock a little into the forest behind my school. I lay down, facing the place I belong. The sky.

Before I can get up, a silhouette emerges from the shadows.

_Will. _

"What the hell, Ash?" he half-screams. "And I thought you were a teachers pet, skipping like that." he murmurs, so soft I can barely hear it over the gentle breeze. The breeze rustles his curly brown hair and I inspincly get up and move my long brown hair away from my face.

I know I look a little stunned, mostly because he noticed and he bothered to follow me. Also partially because I don't know how to explain why the heck I'm here in the first place.

"I, uh," I start, but he cuts me off.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter." he says, a little less surprised and more… caring, and warm. He sits on a small corner of the rock, and before I know it, I scoot over enough for him to lay beside me.

"Luckily it's study hall. We won't get caught skipping." he jokes. He's attempting to small talk, I realize. "So, um, you like programming, huh?"

"Yeah. Hacking." I rely by default. Too late, I realized what I said and grimaced.

"Oh, so you're the creepy hacker that steals people's credit card numbers?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, smiling a little.

"No, not like that." I correct myself, heat rushing to my face. "Like, ethical hacking."

"I get it. I program a little, but not like you do. You know, a little SQL here and there." I sigh and exhale a breath I didn't know I was holding. So, Will was a little like me. Before it was a stranger laying next me. Now it's the boy with the chocolate brown eyes who is the only ones who can look through my leather-clad looks and into my soul.

I guess I like him, I have to admit. The boy I met only a few hours ago.

You are so stupid, Ash.

And that's when I get _it_. The feeling. The feeling that I feel that I hate. _That_.

When I freeze and feel possessed, and I feel like I can't move. When there's a little battle in my brain that I always win. Usually _it _only happens when I write on paper and I just… jump off the trail. I write things like _Shut Up! _and things to myself, without knowing. And it only happens when I'm alone, when no one can help me.

"You're not okay." Will says, panic seeping into his voice, and he's not trying to hide it. I desperately want to tell him I'm fine and it's happened before, but I can't. My blood is boiling and my heart racing. My mind feels like a blur and I squeeze my eyes shut so he can't see my emerald green eyes cry like a 2 year old with a paper cut. I'm kind of surprised I have enough control to do that, so I know the battle is near to it's end. I know it's almost over, and I know that Will can just keep holding me in his soft hands while I feel like I'm dying.

Then, in an instant, it's over. I breathe deeply like I've been holding it forever and I know I look like I'm dead.

"Okay." I murmur into his chest. He's hugging me but I still don't feel anything.

Nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the cliffhanger! I know this probably wasn't the best ending, but I had to end it somehow without it being a whole chiche treatment-makes-her-better situation. Should I add an Epilogue after? Review! Thanks!**

**I know in the last chapter Ash was described as a girl with long wavy brown hair and emerald eyes. Then I realized that maybe black hair and burnt-red eyes (possible) would be more fitting. Thanks! Review/ Follow/ Favorite!**

* * *

_Will. Will. Will. _

I repeat his name, over and over again, in the soft, eerie voice I have. I roll it off my tongue: _Will, Will, Will. _

Also daring him to something. Taunting him to say a word to a suicidal bitch like me.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I wouldn't dare speak to him, because I didn't want to be let down, rejected. Still, the next day, he speaks. Talks. Says "Hi, Ash" like it's not big deal.

It's a big deal, he should know that. No one speaks to _Ash_. Just like Ash speaks to no one. Ash is a _freak_, a neurotic, a depressed ass that collects pity and holds it tight.

_Shut up, Nichole. _I tell myself, bitterly.

Or, not myself. The person, the one everyone blames on schizophrenia, on seizures. I belong in the psychiatric ward, I know. I need to take therapy with uptight women who claim to 'understand'. Everytime, I recites the expected lines, tells no one. If I tell the truth? They don't listen, so I save my breath. Keep it for someone else.

So in therapy, I feel different. Like I _need _to die. They said the attempt was over, long ago, she's recovered. So why, why do I feel it now? Why do I feel the urge and hate to reach for a knife and let it be over with?

_Because I'm scared. I don't want to die. _My therapy- mind supplies.

_Pay attention! _yells Nichole, as if wasn't distracting. As if.

"Any suicidal thoughts?"

"No," I lie.

"Friends?"

"Yeah. Tons." I reply, but this time I can't control the sarcasm leaking into my voice. The blonde lady raises an eyebrow and looks back down to her clipboard.

"Taking your meds?" she asks, and I almost stifle a bitter, evil laugh. She seriously had the nerve to say that? To the girl who went in a coma for days after an overdose, after cyanide pills?

I grit my teeth and follow the script.

"How have you been feeling?"

"Good. Normal." a single word in, I identify the look on her face. _Elaborate. _I sigh.

"I am feeling absolutely perfectly fine, done good in school- actually, more than good in school- and I am excited about going to Russia to compete in the _International Science Fair _this month." I let the anger slip, making the lady shut up. Her eyes darted around the clipboard, obviously searching if the last part was true. Besides, why would anyone believe me?

"Alright, that doesn't seem to be on my list, but your session is canceled the next of this week…" she said doubtfully. I let out an exasperated breath. _Knew it. _

"You know, I have homework. Can I just _leave?_" I beg. I really didn't have homework, but I desperately needed to get out of there. I wanted to walk home in the rain and let my mascara streak down my face, scare the little kids and roar. I wanted to get a knife and smile creepily at the people when I cut myself, like I do every day. This time, though, they can see. They can see my suffering, see why I deserve it. And also show off my artfully placed scars.

"I'll call first, if you want a ri-" she started.

"No, I have a phone. I'll call my mom." I interrupted. She walked to the door with me, and that;s when I lost it. She couldn't even trust me with a freaking _door. _How am I supposed to kill myself with _that_? Sure, I'll just what's there and stick the handle in my heart. Because there are _no _security cameras, right? I just stormed out, slamming the door in the lady's face so hard her glasses fell. And I was happy about that.

I didn't 'apologize'. I just ran, laughing like a maniac.

_Free. _

_64 days before_

I'm crazy, I know. Crazy to say _yes_. But Will was even crazier. Who asks a freak to prom?

_No one. _Nichole supplies in her I'm-an-angel voice. Her innocent voice, that captures all the innocence she doesn't have.

Still, I told him I'd be there, told him that his bow tie can match my dress and we can waltz in hand in hand. I told him. I'd told him about my attempt and about everything and about why they are killing and why the meds aren't working and why I stopped taking them and why I'm still here to explain it all to him. I couldn't hold it anymore, I had to tell someone. I was sure he'd give me weird looks after that, but he only nodded his head and tapped his knee and thought.

_He's cute when he's thinking, _Nichole taunts. I sharply tell her to shut up for once.

And then, he took my hand and walked me home. He told me things that made me feel special. He made my heart flutter and made me happy. For a moment.

Then I remembered that it was only pity, and that everyone prefers a happy memory of someone before they take off. I didn't let my smile falter, but I prepared to be disappointed.

So when I showed up at prom in a black, gothic gown, he was there.

_With someone else. _

I just ran back in before he could see me, tears streaming down my face. I was pretty sure I was a mess, and mascara was probably streaked on my face. A small twig caught on my dress, creating a big tear up to my knees.

_Stupid, _scolded Nichole, _Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

I wanted to yell at her, telling her I had prepared well enough for disappointment, tell her that screaming at a weeping girl is not exactly helping her situation. But would she really listen? No.

I couldn't help but think of all the memories. My mind flooded with them, making me sway so much I had to sit down. I couldn't bring herself to walk to the rock, because that's where we first met.

I remembered the first kiss, his lips sweet and soft. He had brushed his lips against mine, asking a questions: _ok? _I replied with a deeper kiss, leaning in, hungry for more.

I remembered when I would get my _feelings_, and he would hold me until it went away.

I remembered countless days, countless times I was sure he loved me.

That I loved him.

But he didn't. If he really did, would he have kissed another girl and put his arm over her shoulder?

Sure, I could delete

his number

his facebook

his texts

But could I really delete

his face

his hands

our memories

?

_No. _

He tied be to the ground when I wanted to fly, he left when I most needed him.

_Stop it, it's like he raped you. _Nicole tells me. _Overreact much? _

I was getting tired of Nicole's insults, but a lot of them were clever, clever enough to be reused.

I stopped crying, cleaned myself up as much as I could, and ran home.

I did not feel free this time.

I felt trapped. Trapped inside of myself, trapped inside of something that was so small, but I only saw it's shadow.

But most of all, I was as scared as hell.

_164 days before_

"Hey, bitch. You must have been born on the highway, because that's where most accidents happen." Someone slammed me against a locker. His breath reeked of pot. God, he was high. Instead of yelling at him like Nicole said, I glared and walked away.

"Aww, the bitch too scared? I would've slapped you but I didn't want you to look any better."

A classic. Nicole's told me that so many times it got old, and my comeback was instinctive. So, I just punched him in the eye and told him something about his ass being jealous of all the shit coming out of his mouth. Instead of the predicted reaction, he didn't flinch. He only raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, so she speaks?" Nicole started supplying with with first-degree burns, but I just blurted out one she didn't say already.

"Of course I do. Just didn't want to waste a breath on a dick." I just turned around on the heel of my leather boots, black hair slapping his face.

"Someone call the buuurn center!" a boy with emerald green eyes whooped. _Asshole, _I thought. He seemed vaguely familiar- maybe in one of my classes? I didn't really care, either way. As I angrily stormed away, I didn't bother turning around to see the look on his face, because I already knew it- defeated.

**_1 day before_****_**

This was it, I knew. I wanted to die with beautiful scenery, so I guess I would jump. But when I was there, I couldn't. My brain screamed _Yes! _but my feet wouldn't move. One part of me pleaded for more time to set things straight- it plan it right. Another just snarled.

I wouldn't do it. I can't. Not now, now while emerald green flashed before my eyes.

I got down.

And left.


End file.
